


A Pool Incident

by appleblossomdean (alatus)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Cas is shirtless at some point so be warned, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Massage Therapist Dean, Misunderstandings, Personal Trainer Castiel, Spa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alatus/pseuds/appleblossomdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One of my clients tripped and took me down with him. I fell into the pool and twisted my knee. I didn’t feel the need to go to the hospital, but Ellen practically forced me to –"</p><p>But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because suddenly Dean’s pressed against his side in a long lithe line, a strong arm wrapped around Castiel’s waist and the fingers at his hip warm dots of pressure through the thin material of his shirt. Dean carefully lowers him down. Castiel is too light-headed to make much of an effort to help. </p><p>"Let’s have a look then," is the only warning Castiel gets before Dean is sliding the hem of his running shorts up and soft hands are roaming over his knee.</p><p>Maybe he should have gone to the hospital after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pool Incident

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr](http://appleblossomdean.tumblr.com/post/87646886359/for-abi-who-not-only-betad-this-and-made-it)

~°~°~ 

Ellen is sitting on the stool behind the spa reception counter when she sees Castiel wobbling in through the door, still sopping wet from the pool. She jumps up and helps him lower himself into one of the squishy armchairs littering the room. 

“Castiel, honey, what happened to you? Usually it’s your clients who come in here battered and bruised.”

Castiel likes Ellen, she’s warm and welcoming despite her teasing. She’s definitely far nicer than her daughter Jo, who doesn’t seem to like Castiel and acts like he’s stolen her first born child every time they’re forced to interact. 

“Mr Walker slipped next to the pool and tripped me. I twisted my knee and fell into the water.”

Ellen snorts, but reigns in her laughter at the bedraggled sight before her. Castiel must look like a puppy that unwillingly got its first bath right about now. 

“That’s too bad. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

Castiel has been contemplating it, but he hopes he isn’t hurt too badly and it’s a Friday evening, he doesn't want to have to spend the night in a hospital bed. Still, his knee is throbbing painfully and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to drive home by himself. Maybe he can ask Hester if he can catch a ride with her.

“You could ask Dean to take a look at it,” Ellen suggests and walks back behind the counter to check something on her computer. Castiel looks at her in confusion.

“Why would I do that? I don’t think a massage would be all that beneficial for my knee.”

Ellen gives him a confused look. He gets the distinct feeling that he’s missing something essential here but is slightly too busy trying _not_ to think about in what ways a massage from Dean _could_ be beneficial, to work it out.

“Dean’s a trained physiotherapist,” Ellen explains, “I thought you knew.”

Castiel did not know. Not that he knows a lot about Dean anyway, other than the bits and pieces he picks up at work.

“I really don’t want to bother him,” Castiel explains, but it’s only half true. He doesn’t want to dwell on what the other half of that truth consists of. Ellen’s look clearly says she won’t put up with any of his weak excuses. 

“He’s had his last massage for the day and he’s been complaining all afternoon that his evening is free of appointments yet he still has to stay here. Just go ahead to the massage rooms, he should be in the last one on the right."

The shooing wave Ellen gives Castiel forces him out of his seat and he gingerly makes his way over to the large glass doors that separate the waiting area from the treatment rooms. 

He isn’t able to put pressure on his left knee and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to get to the door and actually open it without toppling over. Ellen gives him another encouraging look and the door closes with an audible click.

Soft light and unobtrusive scents waft over Castiel and he instantly calms a little. The spa is supposed to give off a relaxing vibe and he has always envied the therapists for the unhurried atmosphere, even though he knows that they’re usually on a tight schedule and that their work isn’t much less physically taxing than his. Still, yelling at people to make them do something they usually don’t really want to do _and_ being fit due to his job, often places Castiel on the receiving end of both annoyed grumbling and weakly concealed envious glances. Doing something to make people relax and comfortable in their own skin seems to be a much more gratifying occupation. 

Then again, Castiel is awkward around barely clothed people, which would make him useless as a spa therapist. To do such a job well, one has to be more like Dean or Benny or even Andy, who radiates more calm than any sleeping pill could induce. Although Castiel suspects that has more to do with the pot he tends to smoke during his breaks than anything else.

When, after a great deal of hobbling, Castiel finally finds himself in front of the room Ellen said was Dean’s, the door is ajar and he can see the flickering light of candles. There’s also faint humming that sounds suspiciously like Dean singing Black Sabbath under his breath. 

A smile steals itself onto Castiel’s lips before he can school his expression. He opens the door quietly and steps into the room. Dean is rearranging towels and hasn’t noticed him yet. He’s pulling a fresh sheet over the massage stretcher and turning around to throw the used one into the laundry basket. The move brings him chest to chest with his unexpected visitor and Castiel isn’t sure who’s more surprised. After a moment, Dean places a hand over his heart and takes a step back. His eyes are even wider than usual and his gaze lingers on Castiel’s dripping hair and the wet shirt clinging to his torso like a second skin. 

“Damnit, Cas, make some noise!” he exclaims and Castiel doesn’t bother correcting the use of his shortened name. Maybe it’s because he only ever gets called _Cassie_ by his obnoxious brothers and he actually likes Dean’s nickname for him. Another fact he tries not to think about too much, “What are you even doing here?”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dean smirks lopsidedly and Castiel feels his stomach flip. Maybe the fall made him a little dizzy after all.

“I don’t scare that easy.” Dean smirks, but still has a questioning look on his face. It’s surprisingly hard to concentrate with Dean’s gaze directed at him.

“Ellen said you’re a trained physiotherapist.” That’s not how Castiel wanted to start but it is what comes out of his mouth nevertheless. For a brief moment he thinks he sees anger flashing across Dean’s face but it’s gone so quickly that he might have imagined it. Still, Dean’s expression is wary.

“Yes, I am. Why?” Definitely wary. Has Castiel already made him mad? He seems to have that effect on people even without intending it.

“One of my clients tripped and took me down with him. I fell into the pool and twisted my knee. I didn’t feel the need to go to the hospital, but Ellen practically forced me to –“

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because suddenly Dean’s pressed against his side in a long lithe line, a strong arm wrapped around Castiel’s waist and the fingers at his hip warm dots of pressure through the thin material of his shirt. Castiel temporarily forgets to breathe and only remembers when Dean starts gently guiding him over to the stretcher. He carefully lowers Castiel down, sliding an arm underneath his back and then pulls his left leg up so that it’s lying stretched out on the fresh white sheet. Castiel is too light-headed to make much of an effort to help. 

“Let’s have a look then,” is the only warning Castiel gets before Dean is sliding the hem of his running shorts up and soft hands are roaming over his knee. When Dean applies a bit of pressure, Castiel groans in pain. 

Maybe he should have gone to the hospital after all.

Dean shifts on his feet and doesn’t meet his eyes when he asks, “Why didn’t you ask Hester?”

Which reminds Castiel that Hester has the day off and therefore won’t be able to drive him home either. But he can think about that later, now he has to focus and get his breathing under control. Having Dean in such close proximity has unexpected effects on his general composure.

“She’s not working today,” he explains, trying and failing to suppress a shiver when Dean’s hand grazes the hollow underneath his knee. 

“Mhh mmh. Well, you twisted it pretty badly, you can already make out a swelling. Making sure it’s cooled and rested is all you can do for now, really. This is going to bother you for at least a week. 

Castiel groans again, this time out of frustration. A week off work is a lot of free time, meaning there won’t be anything to distract him from unwanted thoughts. Such as the ones that are running through his head when Dean starts to gently massage his knee, making sure he doesn’t press so hard as to cause Castiel any more pain. Castiel is eternally grateful that he succeeds in suppressing the moan that threatens to escape his throat. He can certainly understand why Dean’s massages are frequently requested by regular clients. Not that he knows the details of Dean’s schedule, it’s just that spas are the biggest gossip holes on the planet.

“.. if you want.”

Castiel blushes and turns his head towards Dean, who apparently has been talking for a while.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Castiel asks and feels like an even bigger idiot than he usually does when he’s talking to Dean. He normally tries to hide his awkwardness behind a trademark calm expression and impersonal small talk. But today has been full of surprises already.

“I mean, I know you’re not particularly fond of me, but I don’t have to be anywhere and the backseat of my baby is spacious enough.”

Now Castiel is _really_ curious as to what Dean’s talking about. Dean must have noticed how his offer came across, because colour is rising in his cheeks and he’s rubbing a hand over his neck embarrassedly.  

“Spacious enough for an invalid who needs a drive home, that is. Obviously. If you want. Um.”

It’s oddly endearing how flustered Dean gets. Then Castiel’s brain catches on.

“How did you come to the conclusion that I’m not fond of you?” he asks without thinking. After all, he always assumed Dean didn't like _him_ , mostly because Dean’s charmingly obnoxious and gorgeous and all kinds of things that Castiel isn’t. 

Dean still has a pink tinge to his skin and he’s looking at Castiel sheepishly.

“Y’know, you’re a successful, much-requested, super fit personal trainer and I’m a guy who rubs people the right way in candlelight, backed up by the gossip squadron. You never look at me, much less talk to me more than the obligatory ‘ _Hello, Dean’_ in the hallway.”  

Now that he thinks about it, this is actually the longest conversation the both of them have ever had. And Dean is right, Castiel doesn’t initiate talk because that’s not how he works, but Dean must be oblivious to think that Castiel doesn’t _look_ at him. It’s all Castiel does as soon as he’s in eye-shot of the green-eyed man. He tries to be inconspicuous about it and he probably succeeds because everyone else in the general vicinity is very likely to also stare at Dean. One more reason why Castiel doesn’t think talking to Dean would be a good idea.

“I don’t dislike you,” Castiel states and thinks that’s a weak summary of the thoughts currently swirling around his head.

Dean snorts disbelievingly and drops his gaze back to Castiel’s knee. His hands really are very soft. Castiel wonders if it’s from all the massage oil he’s using every day. And there’s another thought that gets stored at the back of his brain - for later inspection, but no-one has to know that.

“Gee, Cas, don’t sugarcoat it.”

It can’t possibly be disappointment lacing Dean’s voice, can it? Castiel decides that he’s projecting again. 

“Dean, that’s not what I intended to –” Again he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Dean’s patting his thigh and turning away from him.

“Never mind, Cas, do you want the ride or not?”

Castiel nods and tells any mental images this offer procures to _go away_ , but all he can see now is Dean’s shoulders moving under his white uniform and he breathes out a soft “Yes, please”.

“I’m going to go grab one of the wheelchairs standing around in the storeroom. You stay there and wait, no getting up on your own!”

And with that, Dean’s out of the room, leaving Castiel to contemplate his options. He could freak out because he’s going to drive in the Impala and he’s wanted to sit in that car since he’s seen Dean arriving in it one morning a few months ago. Then there’s also the factor of Dean playing nurse for him and his strong hands that will most likely help Castiel get into his apartment. Did he tidy up this morning? He’s sure there’s at least a few mugs and books and possibly trainers lying around haphazardly.

He must be frowning when Dean comes back into the room, because he’s at Castiel side in a heartbeat, asking him if he’s alright. With the onslaught of concerned green eyes and Dean’s hand a warm weight on his shoulder, Castiel is amazed he manages at least a weak nod.

“I was thinking,” he states and Dean tilts his head questioningly.

“What about?”

“My apartment building doesn’t have an elevator and I’m living on the fourth floor. My injury might present a problem.”

Dean’s face goes from concerned to contemplating to timidly hopeful in the space of a second and he’s averting his eyes when he replies.

“You can’t walk for shit and that leg needs rest for at least the next two or three days.”

Castiel isn’t sure how this is supposed to make him feel better. 

“Sammy - my little brother - just moved in with his fiancée, so there’s a free room at my place. It’s on the ground floor. You could, y’know, stay there while you get better. I have the weekend off, so there would be someone there if you needed help.” 

Castiel freezes and he’s sure his surprise must be written all over his face. Did Dean just ask him to sleep over? He’d be at Dean’s house _at night_. Castiel’s not sure agreeing would be the best idea, even if it’s reasonable that he shouldn’t stay on his own with an injury that makes him practically an invalid. But.. Castiel can only trust himself so far when it comes to keeping his game face on around Dean. He simply can’t say yes.

“If you’re certain I wouldn’t impose I would like to accept your offer.” 

He needs to improve his brain-mouth coordination. Dean’s lips quirk up at the corners.

“Dude, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to. I planned on sitting on the couch, watching the last season of ‘ _Game of Thrones’_ with a beer and some artery-clogging food. There’s hardly anything you could impose on.”

Castiel has wanted to watch the episodes he’s missed for a while now. His day seems suddenly a lot brighter than just half an hour ago.

Apparently Dean didn’t need a response, as he’s unfolding the wheelchair and arranging it next to where Castiel is still lying down. Castiel manages to sit up on his own before Dean is on him again and lifting him into the wheelchair. If Castiel suffers a heart attack from all the manhandling, hopefully nobody’s going to blame him.

“Man, you’re a lump. All that physical exertion’s made you pretty compact, huh?”

Maybe Dean isn’t that charming after all. 

After collecting their duffel bags and changing his uniform to well-worn jeans slung low on his hips and a faded Motor Head shirt, Dean wheels Castiel through the foyer, past Ellen who only raises her eyebrows at them and out into the parking lot. It’s raining like there’s no tomorrow and Dean almost slips when he heaves Castiel into the backseat and the wheelchair into the trunk.

Then he’s sliding into the driver’s seat and they’re off with the quiet purring of the car and classic rock playing on the radio.

Castiel has completely forgotten to feel embarrassed and awkward in face of the classic beauty he’s sitting in.

“She’s gorgeous. ’67 Impala?”

The smile Dean throws his way is even more beautiful than the car.

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy, Cas.”

Castiel blushes and fumbles for a subject change, because surely Dean did not just _flirt_ with him. This day is full of odd situations.

“Why do you call me that?” is all Castiel can come up with. It must do for now.

“What, Cas? Castiel’s a mouthful and nicknames are cool. Sorry, I can stop if you don’t like it.”

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” Castiel replies quickly. Quite the contrary, actually. It’s a nice feeling. It makes him all warm and tingly, like they’re friends, at least.

“Got it. Mind if I stop and grab some groceries for dinner?” Dean’s question is uttered easily, but Cas can see his shoulders tense and wonders about it.

“Of course not, Dean. I’m imposing on your home and time, please don’t go out of your way to accommodate me.”

“I told you, you’re not imposing. You okay with home-made burgers?”

If Castiel didn’t know it wouldn’t be appreciated, he’d kiss Dean for suggesting it. Maybe having to constantly control himself would turn out to be worth it for the weekend he was about to have.

Dean stops at a supermarket and makes quick work of his shopping while Castiel waits in the car. After a short drive they arrive at Dean’s house and Castiel is once again pleasantly surprised. If asked, Castiel would’ve guessed that Dean lived in a typical bachelor’s apartment. He would’ve been oh-so-wrong. 

Apparently, Dean had inherited the house from his parents - a sad look passes his face when he mentions that fact - and restored and refurbished it from the core. Which led him to discover that his brother might be the smartest person he knows but can’t necessarily use his hands to their best potential. Castiel soon discovers that Dean likes to talk about Sam, whom Castiel has met once at one of their bring-your-family-to-work parties he tries to avoid like the plague. Sam’s a behemoth of a man with floppy hair, a permanent smile on his face and a petite blonde on his arm. According to Dean the woman is Sam’s fiancée Jess and a snarky force to be reckoned with.

Castiel doesn’t know why, but as soon as they enter the house, Dean transforms from quietly charming to downright talkative. He seems to be nervous, though, rubbing his neck and stealing sideways glances at Castiel. Maybe he isn’t comfortable having Castiel in his house, after all. And what a house it is. He’s only seen the hallway, the kitchen and the living room so far and he’s more than impressed. The homey kitchen is honey-coloured with green accents and opens into the living room, where large windows lead onto a deck.  

Behind that, lies a carefully maintained garden which Castiel can’t help but notice lacks flowers. He gets a sudden image, dancing unbidden and tantilising behind his eyelids, of himself crouched by the empty flowerbeds, coaxing tulips and forget-me-nots to life. He sees Dean too, gentle hands eager to help and eyes outshining the green of the lawn. The image is not an unpleasant one, in fact Castiel tries very hard to ignore just how pleasant it actuallyis; so he turns away before he can start wondering how Dean would react to a couple of beehives, and tries to pretend the image doesn’t make his heart stutter.

Dean helps Castiel sit on the deep red couch, brings him an icepack and tells him to relax while he makes dinner. Castiel is so dazzled by the odd domesticity he’s experiencing that he can’t form a coherent response. He’s glad the couch faces away from the kitchen because he’s not sure he could resist following Dean’s every motion. He closes his eyes and tries to do as he was told. Unfortunately, he can’t help but notice that the floodgates have opened in his head and he can’t keep denying the attraction he’s felt for Dean since he first saw him talking to Jo in the spa almost two years ago. Only now he’s getting to know Dean, something he never dared hope and it only highlights the reasons why he’s smitten with him in the first place. He is so completely and irreversibly gone on the man, he can’t even think straight anymore.

 

~°~°~

 

The man Dean’s had a not-so-secret crush on for almost two years is sitting on his couch. 

_Fuck._

Ellen must have known what she was doing when she sent Cas to ask Dean for help. Dean’s not sure if he should be mad at her or if he should send her flowers as a thank you. It probably depends on how this clusterfuck of a situation pans out.

When Cas told him with a disbelieving look on his face that he’d heard Dean was a trained physiotherapist, Dean thought he was in for more dismissive, disinterested looks from his object of affection. Instead, Cas appeared flustered and weirdly unfocused. Usually, that intense gaze of laser-blue intent makes Dean blush up to his ears in an instant, although he’d never admit it. He blushed today, too, but that was more likely due to the physical proximity between them. And the fact that Cas’s flimsy training clothes were plastered to his body, leaving very little about the man’s physique to the imagination.

“Shit!”

Cas’s head swivels around and his face is scrunched up in concern. It’s adorable, there’s no other word for it. But Dean needs to concentrate on something here.

“I bet your clothes are still damp, I’m sorry, man. I’ll grab you some of mine real quick.”

Dean doesn’t wait for Cas’s response, but bolts out of the room and up the stairs. He’s interrupted Cas a lot today, which is probably rude, but it’s completely unlike him to be this flustered. Damn, an hour ago he’d thought Cas liked him as much as he liked interval training, which isn’t a lot judging by the heated arguments Cas and Hester have about them in the staff kitchen. Dean’s still not convinced Cas isn’t only staying with him because he has no one else taking care of him. Whatever made Cas say yes, Dean’ll take it. He’ll take anything Cas gives him.

That’s just great, on top of everything he’s turned into a teeth-rottingly sappy romantic. 

_Son of a bitch._

A pair of flannel pajama pants and a Zep shirt that’s soft from too many rounds in the washing machine will have to do. Dean takes the stairs back down at a bit more moderate pace, but in his head he stomps down the thoughts of Cas eating dinner with him, sleeping next to him, just separated by a thin wall and it shouldn’t be that much of an effort to keep his overeager imagination at bay. Sadly, Dean’s never been good at self control when it comes to endearingly awkward guys with disheveled dark hair, brilliant azure eyes and don’t get him started on those hands. 

So maybe he only has the self-control issues with Castiel. He doesn’t know how many times Benny’s made fun of him for ogling Cas when he comes in from a training session, glistening with sweat, downing water in big gulps. It’s not Dean’s fault that the whole thing could be straight out of a gym ad; the hollow of Cas’s throat working around the water and tiny droplets of sweat beading on his sharp collarbones, a rosy tint of exertion on his cheeks.

Dean is _so_ screwed.

Cas is still sitting on the couch, head leaning against the backrest, putting the soft skin of his neck on perfect display. It’s like Cas is frustrating Dean on purpose. Dean drops the clothes in Cas’s lap and stands in front of him, unsure. 

“Do you need help.. um,” he gestures at Cas’s knee and there’s the telltale rush of blood to his cheeks again.

Cas seems confused at first, but then it seems to hit him that putting on pants by himself might not work when he’s not able to bend his knee.

“Ah, I suppose I do. Need help, that is. If it’s not making you uncomfortable, of course.”

Dean snorts. “Believe me, I‘ve had to undress Sammy more often than I can count and it happened again not as long ago as you might think. The sasquatch is a light weight when it comes to hard booze.”

He’s really just trying to dispel the awkwardness between them, but stories about Sam seem to bring a smile on Cas’s lips and Dean likes that. A lot.

Cas is trying to stand up but he fails and flops back down on the couch with a groan. Dean laughs and grabs his hands to pull him up.

“Can you stand on your own? Good. I’d usually buy a guy dinner before doing this, but I suppose you’ll get dinner after, so there’s that.”

Cas tilts his head in question but when Dean gestures at his running shorts, Cas blushes and shoves them down his hips unceremoniously. Dean helps him out of them and into his flannel pants trying not to stare at Cas’s taunting hip bones too obviously. He quickly straightens back up and strides back into the kitchen to give Cas some privacy while he’s changing his shirt. It’s no surprise that his resolve crumbles as soon as he’s standing at the kitchen counter, the place allowing him a perfect view into the living room. He almost chokes on his tongue when he sees the way Cas’s back mucles ripple when he pulls of his shirt. It should be illegal to have skin that smooth and tanned. Dean wants to run his fingers all over it to see if it’s as soft as he imagines.

He really needs to concentrate at the task at hand; namely, making his trademark burgers. Preferably without dropping any ingredients and/or pans. It’s going to be a long night. 

Half an hour later, Dean has turned on the TV, brought over their plates and a six-pack of beer and has settled in on the couch next to Cas, who has his injured leg propped up on the coffee table Dean made himself.

“Press play and dig in,” he orders and Cas dutifully obeys. It’s not like Dean’s going to be able to focus on anything other than the way Cas moans around the first bite of burger or how his lips wrap around the beer bottle anyway.

“This is delicious, Dean. Thank you for taking me in.” Dean averts his gaze and waves Cas’s gratitude off. 

“It’s no big deal.” Dean’d like to say _You’d do the same for me_ , but he’s still not sure if Cas actually likes him. 

“It is for me. Dean, I want to make sure you know that I enjoy being around you. How you could think otherwise is puzzling me.”

Cas has been speaking to his plate, but now he’s placing it on the table, angling his body towards Dean. Who sits frozen to the spot, not knowing what to say to that. It sounded so certain and genuine. 

“Thanks, I guess. I like having you here, too.” Which is not exactly what Cas said, butwhatever. Cas’s brilliant smile certainly says a lot for itself. And that’s why Dean throws caution to the winds and puts his own plate down as well. He’s really got nothing to lose. They can go back to impersonal glances and small talk at work if Cas doesn’t reciprocate and only Dean has to know that his heart suffered more than it usually would from a rejection.

“I wanted to ask you out since you ripped Meg a new one for overexerting her client. I didn’t know you could get that pissed, it was downright scary. And hot as fuck.”

Cas is staring at him, eyes wide and unblinking. When he doesn’t say anything, a heavy weight slides down Dean’s chest. He casts his eyes to the side, makes a grab for the plates and opens his mouth to apologise. For what, he doesn’t know, but he’ll at least try.

He gets to do neither of these things though, because Cas grabs his arm and practically drags Dean into his lap. Before Dean can utter a word, Cas’s mouth is on him, lips softly moving over the corner of Dean’s mouth, brushing against his bottom lip and then Cas slides his hands over Dean’s shoulders into his hair and there are so many butterflies in Dean’s stomach he’s surprised they don’t burst from his lips. As soons as he’s over the shock that Cas hasn’t punched him in the face he makes sure to let him know how very much on board he is with the new direction their evening has taken.

—

With Cas being injured and them not really knowing each other all that well, nothing more than some heavy making out happens that night. He feels like a love-struck teenager when Cas shyly asks if he can sleep in Dean’s bed anyway. Naturally, Dean agrees, it’s a king-size after all. 

And when Cas mumbles something into Dean’s neck about how he likes to wear Dean’s clothes because they smell like him, Dean wonders how he could possibly have gotten this lucky. But if Cas thinks the same, well, that might just be the best thing that has ever happened to Dean.

Now he just needs to tell Sam and Benny, who have not so secretly been running a betting pool on Dean’s personal life for the last year.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For Abi [♥](http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Who not only beta’d this (and made it readable) but who is also one of my favourite people in the world and deserves every pining massage therapist!dean and personal trainer!cas fic ever.


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